


electric fur

by khakis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:38:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khakis/pseuds/khakis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it was a night that changed everything. harry wishes he'd never woken up from it. (based off of ee cumming's poetry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	electric fur

i like my body when it is with your  
body. It is so quite a new thing.  
Muscles better and nerves more.  
i like your body. i like what it does,  
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which i will  
again and again and again  
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new  
\- ee cummings

when harry wakes up, the watery november light clamoring under his eyelids and the edge of a hangover hovering against the ridges of his teeth, he reaches out instinctively for the body he fell asleep next to. he hadn't even meant to succumb but had around 5 am, warm and happy and more sure than he had been of anything in eons.

the only problem: no one is there. there's no soft skin to meet his reaching fingers. harry's eyes fly open and he realizes he is, indeed, alone, left only with the scent of musk and vanilla and comfort.

and then he sees the note.

\-----  
the day before

harry had been staring at the poem for hours. he was in his favorite nook in the library, snuggly in an old overstuffed armchair that had been placed in the back of periodicals and apparently forgotten about. it was a good place to sit and think, usually, except all harry could think about at that moment was how stupid he felt for pretending he was going to be a poet. it was impractical, it was selfish, not to mention if he couldn't even understand a poem written by someone who was very good at poetry how on earth could he write anything decent of his own? 

his analysis was due in class on monday, so he had a little time, but he could feel the familiar panic rising in the back of his throat, tracing a hot, dry path right through the center of him. why had he thought this was something he could do?

harry was someone who didn't wear anxiety well. in fact, he didn't wear it at all. anxiety sat tight and small inside him, only blossoming when he was alone. it was a tiny, dense object, easily hidden, but he was always aware of its weight, always trying to breathe through it. he was sure this would have come as a surprise to almost anyone who knew him, and he liked it that way. he was happy to be happy, to be the boy with a dimply smile and a willing hug and self deprecating remarks about how pretentious poets were (it was easy to laugh about because laughing was better than confronting what felt like a crippling reality).

the buzz of his phone shook him out of his momentary spiral. it was vibrating right next to the untouched ee cummings print out, and he knew before he even grabbed it it would be a text from niall. he was right.

_can ya take my shift tonite? zayn is in town !!!_

harry could've quickly compiled a list of about 73 things he'd rather do than go into the bar on a saturday night, but he knew he'd take it. he would do anything for niall, especially where zayn was concerned. niall was a goofball, an easy-going practical joker, but he wounded quietly and deeply and harry knew that zayn was the only thing these days that could make niall beam as wide as an ocean. he was sad, and zayn was his antidote. of course harry would take the shift.

he swung by his tiny flat (a room, literally, with an enormous bed and a little closet and a sink and a minifridge) to drop off his things and change into his standard work outfit, an almost-see-through, worn, white cotton tee and black jeans that looked like they'd been painted onto his slender thighs. he liked the shirt because his tattoos showed through it, the proud swallows on his chest. they had been a drunken impulse that niall talked him into in between teasing kisses right under the hinge of his jaw, and harry had been so buzzed and turned on and high on friendship that it hadn't hurt a bit.

the bar was especially busy, even for a saturday night, and harry was stuck fulfilling endless drink orders, shooting occasional pleading looks towards an oblivious nick at the dj station, his hair an absurd height and his mixes pleasing the crowd endlessly, as usual. he had brought someone along tonight, and harry only had to glance at the boy once to look away again. he knew the lovely golden-skinned creature was not for him by the way he slipped casual hands around nick's waist and by the crowds that formed around him as he spun and spun to neon trees under the flashing lights. it was suddenly like the entire room was orbiting around this boy, and harry naturally fought back. he wasn't interested. he didn't need a new source of gravity, thank you very much. he let himself get lost in long island iced teas and rum and cokes and 74 beers on tap until a lilting voice asked him for "a bunny blue, please?"

harry snapped his head up at that. the bunny blue was a drink he and nick had invented one 3 am on nick's kitchen floor, drunk and giggly, and no one else knew of it, except, apparently, nick's boy. he was smiling sweetly, wisps of soft hair falling across his sweaty forehead as he said "you're nick's friend harry, yeah? i'm louis" and held out a small neat hand to be shook.

"hi, louis," harry said wearily, glancing toward where nick was beaming cheekily at him from the dj station. "can i fix you something? or has that pest sent you over here solely to bother me?"

louis' face fell, just a little, his smile catching on a snag as he pushed his forearms off of the sticky surface of the bar. "didn't realize i was being a bother," he said, and disappeared into the crowd. no, disappeared was the wrong term. he was endlessly visible, like the world was conspiring around the slope of his shoulders and the unbelievable curve of his waist to keep him in sight at all times. nick always pulled attractive people, but harry wasn't interested in pining for toys he couldn't have. god, niall owed him one.

unfortunately for harry, he was prone to pining. he always had been (nick, liam, even niall for a scary 21 hours), and no matter how hard he tried to look away, louis seemed to find his way into harry's vision, all flushed cheeks and writhing hips and eyes that kept finding harry's through the haze. 

harry's shift ended precisely as annie took over for nick, and so he slipped out back to smoke, leaning his head up against the bricks and woefully underdressed for the biting cold of the night. he kept seeing louis dance behind his eyelids, a strip of his belly and his head thrown back, and he wished he could just hold the cigarette against his arms instead. it would be more sensible, probably.

there was a bang and the back door slammed open, pouring light and heat and nick out into the back alley, followed, of course, by louis.

"here he is!" nick yelled triumphantly. "i told you he wouldn't get away!"

"you did good, nicholas you dog," louis laughed, a scratch in his voice. harry watched silently, unsure where or why he fit into their evening. and then nick turned to go but louis caught the edge of his leather jacket, pulling nick into a very serious hug that harry felt inclined to look away from. nick smiled briefly and harry realized he was on the edge of tears, but then he pulled away and stuck out his tongue in harry's direction. "be good," he touted, and then the bar sucked him back in, and harry was left shivering and confused, an almost spent cigarette smoldering in his fingers, the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen standing mere feet from him. 

"well?" louis asked, the lilt and scratch of his voice settling around harry like an itchy wool sweater in the cold. warm, but he still wasn't sure if it was welcome. "nick said you don't have a boyfriend right now," louis continued, looking as though harry were an idiot for not understanding what was going on.

"i don't," harry said, voice gruff. just like nick to go around telling his latest conquests that harry was endlessly and incurably single. 

"well?" louis repeated, and then he closed the feet between them and tucked a thumb against the soft hollow under harry's jaw. and, suddenly, harry realized what he was asking.

"you and nick aren't together?" he half laughed, shivering a lot and giggling a little, watching the words curl out of his mouth and hover like smoke in the bright, clear cold. 

louis answered him by surging forward, sliding the hand from under harry's jaw to the back of his neck and another under his shirt, standing on his tiptoes to kiss harry and backing him into the rough brick building behind him. harry tensed, for a moment, and then succumbed, leaning down into it and suddenly oblivious to the cold, oblivious to everything but louis, licking his way into his mouth and tasting like heat and ecstasy and coconut rum. 

they made it back to harry's flat running, louis dipping and twirling through the streets like an airplane with its wings outstretched, stopping at random intervals to suck on the flushed skin of harry's neck. 

they fell back onto harry's enormous bed like children, laughing and bouncing until louis pounced, crouching over harry with a look in his eyes that harry wished he could bottle, save for the moments when anxiety coiled in the pit of his stomach, hard and small and immutable. he hadn't felt so relaxed in a kind of forever, stretching out long and luxurious underneath louis' sweet little body, like some kind of apparition. 

louis caught sight of the paper on his bedside table and picked it up before harry could snatch it from him. "light reading, huh?" he teased, holding the poem so high that his shirt rode up and harry seized the opportunity to sit up, kiss his bellybutton, slip his fingers underneath the cotton until they were tracing along louis' ribs. "why don't you just take it off?" louis murmured, leaning down to kiss into harry's curls, and they stayed like that for a moment: harry's face pressed against louis' middle, his fingers fitted into the grooves of his ribcage as louis curled down around him, cradling harry's head and burying his face in his hair. it was a potent kind of intimacy, one harry had never felt before, and he tried to keep from trembling at the feel of louis' fingers tracing patterns against the back of his neck. 

after a moment, louis came down from his knees, wrapping his legs around a now seated harry so that they were face to face and perfectly the same height. he still had the paper in one hand and harry reached for it quickly, but not before louis cut him off. "could you read it to me?" louis asked, a shy note in his voice for the very first time that evening. and harry acquiesced immediately, struck with the sudden certainty that he would do anything this lovely boy asked. 

"i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing" harry began, the last word hitching up with a gasp as louis' teeth grazed along his collarbone. "muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does," he continued valiantly as louis mouthed a nipple through the fabric of his shirt, "i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss - jesus" he exclaimed reverentially as louis palmed him suddenly though the hot denim of his jeans. 

"jesus?" louis asked, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, "nah, i don't remember cummings mentioning much of him," and harry closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of louis' fingers and the knowledge that louis read poetry. he felt the paper slip out of his hand but made no move to follow it. he'd stared at it for long enough that evening to know the rest by heart: "i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh . . . . and eyes big love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill-"

louis leaned forward as he finished and murmured "of under me you quite so new" along with harry, letting his breath take harry's away completely. "i quite like that bit," he sighed sweetly, and harry arched uncontrollably, suddenly harder than he had possibly ever been. he'd have to remember to thank niall for this one.

they undressed each other in a flurry of limbs and cotton and stolen kisses and then harry remembered he hadn't had condoms or lube around in eons because why on earth would he, but louis said he doesn't mind and harry actually believed him, believed him as louis ground down against him and mouthed what felt an awful lot like promises against the center of harry's chest. harry reveled in it, the sensation of their cocks sliding together and louis' unbelievable ass under his fingers, but mostly in louis, louis louis louis, the way he wanted to spend the rest of his life saying that word and the way his whole body felt loose, like it was singing, like something there was vastly, unendingly right.

they both made motions to change positions at various points, but for some reason it never happened, it didn't have to. harry didn't want to pull away, didn't want to be in a place where he couldn't see the spark in louis' eyes, the smudges of sweat at his temples, see as louis sucked heavily on two of his fingers before sliding them between their bodies to open harry up.  
harry's back arched impossibly far as louis worked against him, eye contact unbroken, louis whispering "i like kissing this and that of you" as harry rutted back against him, writhing at the sensation of louis' curled his fingers and the sweet words tripping their way out of his mouth. 

they slowed, then, in tandem, harry close to the edge and knowing instinctively that louis was too, panting together, their cocks dark and heavy between their heaving bellies.  
and then they each reached a hand down, louis' small and neat next to harry's massive one, their fingers tangling as they stretched around both cocks. "i think i'm about to be ee cummings" louis breathed with a smirk and harry felt a laugh rip its way from his throat, tangoing with a sob as louis sank down and twisted their hands together, harry's come painting his stomach just a moment before louis' own did the same.

"you utter bastard" he laughed as he came down, but louis only grinned, reaching between them and swiping with delicate fingers, bringing a mess of come up to his mouth. "fuck, that was hot," harry said as he watched, letting louis slip a thumb between his lips and tasting their come together on his tongue. even though 'hot' hardly covered it. it wasn't just hot, he felt fulfilled, drawn out and languid in a way that sex had never left him. and they hadn't done much, just rutted against each other like teenagers, but it had been so much more than enough.

they cleaned up and fell back into bed together, louis' head tucked neatly against harry's chest like a puzzle piece. "you know what's funny?" harry mused. "i wasn't even supposed to work tonight. if niall hadn't asked...i wouldn't have met you today, maybe ever. i'm so glad the universe knows what it's doing."

louis was quiet for a moment, his breathing heavy, and when he said "does seem a bit like it was meant to be, huh?" there was an edge of tears to his voice, a serrated something that terrified harry. he let it go because he didn't want to hear it, instead tracing fingers down the shell of louis' ear and murmuring "yes" into his warm hair.

as a poetry major, harry tried his hardest to live without cliches, to look beyond the fate and the soulmate and the meant to bes that seemed all too easy to come by in favor of the electric fur and love-crumbs that could be. but he realized, laying there with louis tucked against him, every atom of his body humming as it recognized every atom in louis', that maybe those things didn't have to be so far apart. maybe it was easier to ignore the thought of _true love_ and _one and only_ when there wasn't a louis directly in front of him, whispering poetry, his most sacred ideal, as climax washed over them both. 

they talked for a long time. eyes closed, hands learning each other as brains and mouths did the same. it turned out they had both been to see the script on the same night at the same venue a few years back, and when they figured it out, harry could tell by the goosebumps that arose along the ridges of louis' spine under his fingers that he was just as shaken as harry was. that concert had been nearly a religious experience, and to think that louis had been in that dark, sweaty, pulsing hall with him, mere feet away, made harry's heart go mad inside his chest.

they both had sisters, louis liked vegetables just about as much as harry lived off of fruit, they both wanted to travel. harry brought it up first, his deep-seated and unending restlessness, his want to see the world, but then he wished he hadn't. louis curled around him even more tightly, a real feat, but his voice when he agreed had the edge traced along it that had scared harry so much before.

harry hadn't meant to fall asleep, he really hadn't, but at some point they were discussing their favorite constellations (harry's was cassiopeia, where louis just liked the nights when venus was visible, bright and steady on the horizon) and lazily kissing each other between fragments of thoughts, and harry drifted off. he was so, so, unutterably happy, feeling that, as cliche as it was, he was different. he was changed he was opened he maybe knew something about love and he was going to talk about it and feel it and analyze the hell out of the poetry that had stopped him in his tracks before. he was new, but he was old, he felt ancient, like louis was a part of him bigger than just this life, a part that would be there again and again and again. inescapable and vital and as big as the stars.

\-----

the note is small, torn from one of harry's notebooks, and louis' handwriting is just as harry has imagined. he wishes he could wrap himself up in it, pull it around him as a shield and a blanket, the letters golden and glittery as louis himself. he wants to do anything but know what it says.

_i'm moving today_  
 _i'm going away to know about the world, to argentina to play soccer, to be a person i want you to love_  
 _can you keep my name on your lips?_  
 _i like my body when it is with your body. it is so quite a new thing. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows._  
 _i like the thrill of under me you quite so new_  
 _but it's not new, is it? it's something we were always meant to have, something older than old._  
 _yours,_

and that's it, his. no name. harry clings to that comma because it's an opening, a beginning, a promise. it's a thing quite so new.


End file.
